as my ship glides adrift on open waters

carefully steering away from winds,

I search for a harbor to hold me fast,

any island to provide shelter.

the waters are gray, not blue,

sometimes churning, dashing

my craft upon cold unfeeling rocks.

where is the light when I need it most?

have all the lighthouses fled inland?

---

in the moment when despair

has risen like agitated water's foam,

a new day rises above endless sea.

not the sun, not a keeper's light,

just your eyes. home at last.